


Just a Nightmare

by EvilShtriga



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Ficlet, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilShtriga/pseuds/EvilShtriga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has a nightmare he can't fully cope with, even with Steve's support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just a nightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/117745) by min1919. 



The inhuman scream of pain rips the usual night silence apart, violently shaking him awake. He jumps to his feet and freezes, listening intently, not sure if the sound was real or if he just made it up. The air is still, somehow denser than it should be, but the world is silent once again. Save for the howling of drunken teenagers somewhere in the street, apparently certain they are a rock band performing their best song.

Perhaps he just dreamed the scream. He slides back under the sheets and closes his eyes, willing sleep to embrace him. It takes him some time to fully relax, and just as he begins to drift off, the scream fills the flat again.

Steve kicks the sheets aside and follows the sound into another room. He already knows what he’s going to see, but then, the sight still feels like a knife through his heart.

The man in the bed is breathing hard, writhing in his sleep. His flesh and blood arm clutches his chest as the metal fingers dig into the pillow, and a roar of pain escapes his mouth.

“Bucky?” Steve approaches him, reaching out to pull him back into consciousness. “Hey, wake up.” He lays his hand on the metal elbow, taking care not to lean over him, to be as little of a threat as possible. But that’s not enough.

He gives the arm a shake and stumbles backwards as the metal connects with his temple, faster than he expected. Bucky is already kneeling on the edge of the mattress, panting, the wild spark in his eyes only beginning to fade, recognition slowly taking its place.

“Steve?” The confusion in his voice is almost palpable, the fear etched in his face too obvious. “What are you…? Did I…?” He narrows his eyes, looking at Steve’s hand pressed to the temple.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Steve forces a smile. “You need anything?”

“No, I don’t think I do.” He doesn’t sound convincing, but Steve knows he just can’t stay here now, not with blood running from the gash he just earned. The sight would only make it worse for his friend.

“Fine. Good night, then.”

“Yeah.”

He leaves the room, making sure to close the door.

***

He doesn’t look well-rested, but then again, he hasn’t looked that in a long time. The way he stares at the dressing of the wound is not even suspicious; he knows he did it without asking questions.

“Coffee?” Steve breaks the awkward silence, offering a cup, but Bucky doesn’t care to respond. He just sits down at the table. Distractions work for him in some minor situations, but this seems a little too serious to concentrate on breakfast.

“I’m sorry,” he says, attempting eye contact, but failing. His gaze wanders around the room, every now and then returning to Steve for a split second, but never really staying there. “I didn’t mean to, I just-”

“I know. Don’t worry, it’s okay. Nothing serious, really.”

“No, don’t. I know what I did. I know it’s my fault. It’s just that…” He swallows hard, then presses his lips together and frowns, slowly shaking his head.

Steve waits. When Bucky really wants to spit something out, but words fail him, he needs some time to gather all the scattered thoughts and bridle his emotions, to calm the storm raging inside him enough to be able to verbalize his nightmares.

So he just sits there in silence, sipping his coffee, looking into the cup and only stealing sideways glances at his friend. No pressure, no judgement, no impatience. He’s discovered it’s best to pretend Bucky isn’t around at all, and that’s what he does.

He has an impression that, somehow, each day it takes him less and less time to collect himself, but he never checks that. He fears Bucky might take it for a sign of impatience and start considering himself a burden.

Steve looks at his friend again. It genuinely surprises him that Bucky is staring at him with big, searching eyes, pupils dilated in fear. He averts his gaze before Steve identifies the silent cry for help.

“I thought you were Zola.”


End file.
